Solid Thunder

[Cato Fett]

The graft was virtually unnoticeable and if not for Laira’s disclosure, he’d have taken it for either a prior injury from fishing line or an odd tanning anomaly. Cato paused to run his fingers over the mark. The transplant procedure was seamless; most reconnections he’d encountered were black clinic operations and were invariably messy products. But for that one miniscule scar, the skin and flesh below were unmarred. Like a secret facet, a hidden, private episode to her persona. Cato improvised a gesture; he bowed in and gave the low mark on her arm a brief peck. Out of respect for mutual pain. Infrared would pick up the motion, maybe think it nothing more than a husband lavishing attention.

Cato held up his left prosthetic hand and gauntlet and turned the wrist about. “Fighting on Saijo. Where we lost the Commander. Can’t remember if it was because of the crash or strafing fire afterward. One or the other. I woke up on Utapau later getting picked through for shrapnel. Wasn’t a moment to lose. Survivors needed a cash flow to fund reconstructive procedures. So I asked for a simple ‘fit on’ and I’ve been managing ever since. Works fine though,” He whipped the fingers through improbable signs and dextrous configurations. “Just as fast as the real thing. …Even hurts sometimes like it’s still there.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira's eyelids grew heavy, her breathing became soft and smooth while Cato told her the story of how he lost his arm. For the most part the Redhead was extremely comfortable, the movie had been entertaining, and overall her day spent with Cato had been more than pleasant. She had enjoyed herself greatly, just spending time with him.

She giggled as he kissed her small scar with the shortest of pecks on the forearm. "Its not that bad you old goof." But otherwise didn't complain about the odd show of affection or care that crossed his fancy.

Shifting herself around, Laira sunk into the blankets and sheets, using Cato's shoulder and arm like a pillow as her eyes finally closed all the way with a deep sigh. "When we get back, if you want, I can buy you a new arm. I've got some money stashed away." She had access to a trust fund before she joined the Resistance, but she had been cut out of it to protect her parents so the princess only had what credits she had, still a comfortable amount but not astronomical.

And then she was asleep, turned away from Cato, her back pressed against his ribs and her arms wrapped around the limb she had claimed and one of the silk covered pillows, a fuzzy brown blanket pulled up to her stomach.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Surrendering to her whim was easy. For appearances sake, Cato let Laira hold tightly against his arm and let the warmth of her strong shoulders warm into the meat of his chest and belly. He thought the offer of a graft replacement kind but unnecessary. Functional as it was, the prosthetic marked obvious contrition and shame. On his close watch, their Alor had been betrayed and slain. Trust had been defrauded, responsibility cheated, if he had performed to even half of Mother’s expectations, she may yet have lived. He couldn’t and would never accept the helplessness of that exact moment. He was Mando! Not a snivelling two-bit bandit from Nar Shaddaa’s dreg alleyways.

“’Sides, we’re poor,” Cato murmured. Laira didn’t stir; her nose twitched, then wrinkled from a dreaming frown. His false-hand laid over her stomach and held her in, almost looping round to her hip. “So, save your coin, yeah? Just be wasted on me.”

For one day, he would catch up with their betrayer. When their head rolled, presuming the Twenty were at last healed and roused from medically induced comas, Cato would perform a final obligation to Master, Alor, Yuna’sif. To find seclusion where the eagles and carrion might find him, cleanse himself in both body and mind, thank buir Yuna for strength provided from beyond the grave, and then rip his fighting sword through his belly. He thought of the pain. He thought of the sweet darkness afterwards, that would numb him and take his soul away to Manda. If there even was such a thing.

Cato rolled his shoulder, blood circulation already cutting off round the bicep from Laira’s weight. No matter, he was wanting for sleep anyway. Cato blinked and drifted. ‘Missus Gibson’ was warm as an ember. Could feel the strength in her body. Oblivion, and a swirl of familiar fears, tugged his thoughts down into sleep. He’d been a good Mandalorian, he thought.

…Hadn’t he always…?

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira blinked awake, a beam of sunlight across her face from the split in the blinds over the transparisteel door to the balcony. Yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes she began shifting around and stretching where she lay. First her arms, then legs, then twisting her hips around. She could feel something cold and metallic resting on her stomach and someone's breath softly brushing against her neck. For a second she froze while her memory returned from the night before.

Cato.

And everything was alright and relaxed. "Hey, wake up sleepy." She said poking the arm she had lain upon all night. It was likely as unfeeling as his prosthetic at this point, eight hours of Laira laying upon it. Shuffling, she pulled his metallic hand away from her enough to get up and out of bed where she could do her morning stretches.

She started with stretching her hamstrings, bending at the waist and pulling her chest to her shins with a slight groan as she started working through her routine.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

At her absence, the throb returning to his arm woke Cato out of dreamless sleep. A rush of cold striated down through his wrist, touched the skin and meat at the ends of his fingers. The limb had turned pale overnight from knotted circulation. Secondary capillary vessels had worked through the evening and morning providing some measure of flow, staunching potential if temporary damages that hastened with arterial cut-off. Fire chased the ice threading down his arm, bringing with it blood-heat and the familiar million-on-million sensation of needles pricking him from the inside out of his arm. It took a short but steady while encouraging the limb to reawaken. All the while, Cato sat up in bed and beheld Laira’s morning calisthenics.

She was yet so young and how, in the shape of her poses, it showed. He let himself have a moment’s sin and rudeness staring before he gave his right arm a swing. Good! Circulation was returned, range of motion nominal, still strong and formidably corded. Cato all but hopped off the bed and passed Laira to the bathroom suite. Needed to wash, shave. Her reflection taunted him through the sink mirror. He grunted, kicked the honey-teak door closed with the back of a heel before setting about scruffing his jaw with handfuls of scorching water.

Bahj’la would call today. Cato’s helm would be returned to him. Along with his sword and firearms. Giddy, pleasing energy filled his frame.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira continued her calistinics, eventually stretching each leg individually, both arms and then separately, her back and stomach, and then neck. It was a decent routine she had kept up from her youth, adding in a few stretches here and there if she felt particularly sore or cramped. Today she had actually slept pretty good though, a nice peaceful deep sleep for her full eight hours.

"So I was thinking about hitting the beach this morning before a lot of people show up, or we could see about the gym." She munched happily on a power bar, her usual breakfast. High protien, almost no other calories, and provided her with energy for the early morning. Sometime today Bahj'la would be calling them and providing them with some explosives for them to use on Torolis along with whatever else he was able to.

"Hurry up or I'm coming in there whether you like it or not." She called to Cato inside the refresher. She needed a shower and some time to fix her hair and makeup, plus her morning routine did include using the bathroom like any normal person and she wasn't used to sharing a single refresher with someone else and so she was not needing to go, badly.

After a moment of pacing around the room, Laira went to the door and knocked heavily. "I said hurry in there!"

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The privy turned over, knocking installed piping running up the suite walls, before the bathroom door swung in. Cato was only half-dressed, a towel knotted around his waist and cheekbones polished from their lack of whiskers. His hair and brow still hung with water. He favoured Laira an arch glance before jerking his head towards the foggy bathroom interior, the mirrors still dripping with condensation, a mist following his ankles. He got a ‘Thank you~!’, then a cheeky kiss on the chin and a comment about the taste of his whiskers.

The door could not close fast enough upon her rump. The Mando groused, dried off with the towel and relished momentary nudity. Time yet to dress. Cato wanted to ruminate for the moment; what could be expected from Bahj’la’s report? The Bothan was under duress to respond to their ‘requests’, and had admonished he could guarantee nothing. With IMPINT attached to the BSN as administrative minders, their spy net was slashed nearly in half and forced to operate with diminishing resources, all while prior assets were either seized or destroyed. Cato believed he’d secured additional target intel but not much beyond. Spare ammunition and perishable supplies, all well and fine. Explosives? A hard order to match.

Then parameters for mission success will change accordingly, he knew. With ordnance, they stood a healthy chance for disabling the unknown facility outright. Without munitions, they would simply scout, spy, install their hardware and software onto the Imperial network and listen to Tanomas Graf, Grand Moff, fart on his own lavatory. Imperials. Sith in the North, the ‘Mandalorian’ Empire just a little south, the Galactic Empire straddling with the CIS in the east, and the sprawl of the bastardized ‘First Order’ west beyond the Alliance. All would face their due, sometime.

“You first,” He muttered just under his breath. The Cuir Rekr. Their ‘empire’ built on spent Mando’ade blood. Facilitated and encouraged by a short-sighted, hypocrisy-ridden Mand’alor. Yes, there was no love lost between Vizla and Fett. Cato instinctively clenched at a scabbard that wasn’t there. “Come on, call…”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira rushed into the bathroom for her morning routine where she took a hot shower and restroom. When she finally emerged she had reapplied her light make-up and red lipstick, her hair was done up again, and she had showered and changed into something nice to wear for the day. She had settled on a simple attire similar to her original clothing, but with a button-down shirt instead of one with laces.

Once she had emerged they took advantage of the continental breakfast at the hotel and spent the morning with Laira showing Cato how strong she was in the hotel's gymnasium. They took turns doing sets of the same work out, spotting one another with Laira occasionally flexing for Cato or squeezing his muscles and giggling at her own antics until lunch. Laira enjoyed a long work out starting with weightlifting and ending with a five kilometer run, which she attempted to maintain every day she wasn't deployed. It kept her trim and fit, helped with her endurance if she could manage all that at the start of her day. She did force him to do extra sets of squats and lunges with her, calling their glutes a problem area.

After their morning work out and a light lunch, the pair ended up spending time in the room watching the Holo-Net movies again, starting with one about a man sending letters through a time traveling mailbox that confused Laira and she didn't find particularly good, followed by a movie Cato suggested where seven men stood against an army to defend a town from bandits. Laira spent that movie snuggled up beside him again rather than sprawled out in boredom, however.

Then there was a knock on the door.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Bahj’la was admitted in after a pause and another round of knocking. Laira opened auto-door, Cato just out of line of the jamb with arms crossed and a holo-ink pen held tightly in a fist. The Bothan paused and glanced about, unnerved by the violence potential, gladdened he’d not barged in or had the gaffe to wave a blaster in hand. He was laboured instead with a weighted briefcase, trying to walk without the imbalance showing in his gait. Cato was never less or more than a handful of paces away, shadowing the agent through the holiday flat. Light flagged the machined steel jacketing his makeshift jag.

“Well,” Bahj’la wiped his snout with a cotton handkerchief, before replacing his silencing nodule on the counter-space, depressing an interface tab. Light fixtures dimmed and flittered. A sonic note rang off the glassware. “Either Imperial intelligence is lax or your performances were satisfying enough. Either way, we’re temporarily clear of present dangers. IMPINT is getting throttled by the Moff Council. The Grand Moff himself is supposedly between either serenity or fury. Heads are gonna roll, that much is certain. They could care much less for Bothan affairs or Kothlis or anything so minute as a little meeting like this. …We should count ourselves fortunate.”

“What’s gone wrong?” Cato asked.

“…In their wisdom,” Bahj’la explained, pleased and relishing it. “Imperial Command decided to coordinate with rumour. While the Sith and their cousins in the First Order bit into Alliance flanks from their directions, the Galactic Empire would conduct an invasive raid near the Sluis Sector, maybe to establish a beachhead on a marsh realm called ‘Dagobah’. Of course, they lost out. Terribly. The Sith never struck. The First Order nabbed glory at Thyferra and all eyes are now watch for their next conquest. All the Empire gained was embarrassment. Even Mandalorian treachery couldn’t work to turn the tide.”

“The Death Watch was present?” Cato stirred.

“Reportedly. Maybe the Mandalore himself. If even Ra Vizla couldn’t affect a victory over the Alliance, it doesn’t spell out well for either empire. A paltry holding like Dagobah should have been easy takings. Now, Graf’s command looks weak. The Empire is not long for this galaxy and all it’d take to speed it on its way is insurrection.”

Cato kept listening partially and mulled over select details. Was the Death Watch seeking advantage in the Galactic South? Why stand for Graf, an insolent personality? How had the Dagobah campaign gone so terribly? What’d caused the banners to falter and squelch their momentum? Had Vizla’s lieutenants failed him? Or had the civil war bled their people of their fighting drive? How would they fair now that rumours had begun circulating of a warband readying to punch through the Outer Rim Coalition? How could he use this?

“What else?” Cato prompted Bahj’la.

“Ah!” He tapped his cracked briefcase. “A few gifts from the BSN to our nominal… allies… in the Resistance.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira grinned the whole time, more or less listening to the conversation but not piping up about it. She paid attention enough to get the gist of it all and know that things were not all so well in the Empire, and the BSN's information was a little wrong. That actually played to her benefit, and so she wouldn't correct Bahj'la unless she had to.

Overall the situation seemed like the Bothans were in support of the Empire having problems with the Resistance. It would be the perfect opporunity for the Bothans to aid the Resistance and still get what they wanted. Freedom.

"Thank you Bahjie." Laira said in a soft purr, the cream colored bothan squinting his eyes at her quizzically.

"You're welcome. We're even though." He retorted, stroking his whiskers and pursing his lips contentedly. "I believe I've done more than enough to settle our personal debt. The BSN does want to be left out of any official reports, even classified ones. When you tell of this mission, you didn't get our help."

Laira scratched the bothan under the chin smiling, "You got it Bahjie, tell your mom I said 'hi' when you see her."

The Bothan's lip curled in annoyance. "Maybe. She pesters me about if I still see that redhead hoo-man occasionally. I would prefer her not to think that I do. She might get excited again." He turned and made his exit with a slight flourish of his jacket and a haughty expression, chin held high, closing the door on his way out.

Laira snickered as he left, covering her mouth with her hand so Cato couldn't see her laughing. "So, when I met him in third grade he had his head stuck in a jar trying to lick peanut butter out of the bottom. I got it off of him without anyone else noticing and he swore me a life-debt. I held it over him for years while we were in school together. Then I was his date to prom after his date dumped him the night of, so he owed me for that too." Bahj'la was probably in his early twenties by the look of him. Laira hadn't gone to the same finishing school as the bothan who had originally lived on Alderaan for his education, but there were likely pictures of the cream colored bothan in a white suit beside a freshman Laira in a red dress and silver crown documented somewhere.

"What'd he give us?"

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Cato motioned Laira in closer before peeling a mag-zipper aside and propping the briefcase open.

The Bothan had delivered a care package. Stuffed to a half-inch short of the case brim were selections of counter-measures designed at defeating hardened building security. Off-hand, Cato identified a rare Geonosian slicer module, several different grades of ICE breakers, a Master Coder, further anti-security blades and circuit disrupters, a comm-wave descrambler beside a patented Overrider and more. Spare ammunition mags sourced to their select firearms were bundled atop a paper-closed weight settled underneath. Cato reached in and tore a corner of the wrapping.

“…Thermex plastics and ribbon ‘tape’. Your friend came through,” Cato said, and re-sealed the case. He fished a set of clearance documents, print-outs on enameled flimsiplast, from a slip-pouch. Temporary diplomatic privileges, invoked to allow them seamless passage through Teleliu’s customs screen. Teleliu being upon Kothlis, being nested in the heart of Bothan territories, where it’d take a quiet pass of credits, a comm-call, and fastidious discretion to scrub all records of their passing. Cato wondered what it’d cost Bahj’la to procure the supplies. Wondered about the receipt the BSN would bill RESINT for, eventually. He tested and braced the weight of briefcase with one arm and passed Laira her own clearance doc.

“So sorry,” He said. “We’ll have to cut our honeymoon short. Afraid business has come up.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The redhead frowned, a little sad that they wouldn't have more time just vacationing together. She liked Cato, he was fun, even if they had awkwardly they had fallen into the roles she had inadvertently picked for them. In the end she had enjoyed their day or so together, going out to eat, going swimming together, late night movies until she fell asleep. Whatever it was she felt comfortable. If only he was about twenty years younger.

"Awww, you sure we can't dress up nice and go dancing one more time?" She asked with a pout on her face and sadness in her eyes. She considered begging just a little bit to get her way, but already knew the answer Cato would give her. He was nothing if not stoically dedicated to his mission, whatever it may be.

He had however revealed a great deal about himself over the course of their stay which intrigued her greatly. The princess made a mental note to bring up some of her questions later. "Alright, fine. But when we get back to the Yedo Fire you are taking me to the Officer's Club and dancing with me." She compromised, mission first then fun to follow. "And buying the drinks." She grinned at him roguishly while gathering up her things to leave.

A simple matter to pass through customs this time around. They didn't have to sell their covers anymore, expected by the Bothans who would be awaiting them to pass them through with tons of contraband. However, she still clung to Cato tightly while they passed through with her bags of things and clothes she had bought while they had been on Kothlis.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Solid Thunder waited berthed on its docking platform, left standing on its landing claws and appearing prepped for immediate launch. Cato slowed their approach and took a moment lightly tailing about the landing pad’s radius. He made a brief show of being satisfied; no Bothan or half-wit saboteur would so brazenly leave charges latched obviously to the outer hulling. They’d be installed amidst inner-ship hardware, impossible to detect without close equipment, and difficult to disengage. Boarding required a faith Bahj’la or his associates hadn’t cut a compromise with IMPINT for their capture or destruction. Cato strode up straight-backed, briefcase under one arm, looing unperturbed.

The thought stayed with him through boarding. Ammunition, hardware, and explosives were selectively organized then stored accordingly. The thermex especially, encased in a shock-proof gelatin-lined case, laid mid-ships and well away from the aft engine clusters. Cato took the opportunity to strip and dress back into his fatigues; the XG-1 was cramped at the best of times, requiring Laira to keep an eye out through the forward cockpit. He didn’t doubt she was catching peeks when she desired. He fitted on his helmet last, pushing the sheathed blade Oilseller through his belt and tying it in place. The Type-03 was buckled to storage webbing underneath the port-pilot’s arm-wrest. They ran final diagnostics, applied thrust to the landing jets, and beat a vector across Kothlis’ terminator dawn and beyond.

Forward viewscreens dimmed and adjusted opaque levels. Without atmospheric diffusion, sunlight ghosted over their nose-prow, throwing panelling and shadow into sharp relief. Kothlis fell away below; cloud roils in bright atmosphere shrinking in detail. Cato banked them and turned off from the sun, directing the XG-1 towards a constellation just above a chain of bright, blue suns. Starlight coiled around them solid as they vaulted and made translation into Hyperspace.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira normally enjoyed flying, she would normally especially enjoy flying with someone to keep her company, but Cato seemed to have become laser focused on the mission and was being overly stoic for her tastes. Nevertheless they were off and on their way towards Torolis at long last, their day long detour over and behind them.

Perhaps he had just been that good of an actor, that even Laira had fallen for his awkward charm, playful glances her way, and rugged war stories but she thought they had become close. She had hoped they had developed at least what she could call friendship. After a while of silence, the Redhead left and changed herself now that Cato had taken over the controls, a little annoyed with her companion. She shot him the occasional displeased glance while she pulled on her skin-tight black undersuit, seeing nothing but cold metal facing away from her. The soft eyes and kind smile was hidden and disappeared once more, replaced by nothing more than a cold expressionless T-visor.

Once she had dressed, from skivvies to her white shirt and black pants once more, she took a seat in the co-pilot's chair once more, shuffling while she pulled on knee-tall boots in a manner she thought was seductive in the hopes of provoking a reaction from him. "Really Cato, if you're not going to talk to me I feel like I should be rather upset."

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

For sake of privacy, that manners and personal respect were not breached, Cato kept the three-sixty degree HUD option well disabled. He listened against cotton and leather riding up skin, mind tempted to wander and imagine the ludicrously tense session of clothes-dressing occurring less than six paces behind the forward cockpit. Laira was thickly miffed, exaggerating each action, like flopping down beside in the co-pilot seat and kicking her boots up across the console. Her words caught him and Cato turned his helm on her. Warped starlight strobed off the visor.

“Just wanted us off-world, that’s all,” He said, voice processed through a helmet speaker. “Call it paranoia but I don’t trust our luck. Imperial competency is variable and unpredictable. Trust the First Order to throw everything in their disposal to try and halt you. Trust the Moff Council to wax between able and idiot. With lightspeed, at least we have something of a buffer.”

A slight one, he knew. Interdictor fields were potent and a tricky web to extricate from if they were pulled from hyperspace. All it would require was a single IMPINT asset, be it a field agent, a handler, an analyst, to raise alarm over two potentially suspicious individuals flying unknown cargo in an ancient gunboat tacking off from Bothan space. The Empire wasn’t busy; their armada wasted staid in anchor. A flotilla could be organized and dispatched with relative speed. It just needed someone vigilant behind the IMPINT shield to take note. Take note and care.

“But in case you were waiting for it, yes: you look lovely today,” Cato said and it wasn’t unkind. “I miss that little black number from dinner. I thought I might’ve been dining with royalty.”

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira's expression went from dour and annoyed to pleased and content with a sentence, flashing her companion a welcoming smile. "Well, you might have been." She straightened her legs and shifted around to get comfortable in the cockpit once more, waiting a moment to see if he would react in anyway she could see. "We never did decide on your backstory back there. Could have easily been a royal. I'll wear it again when you take me dancing on the Yedo."

As the co-pilot, she was more or less Cato's babysitter through Hyperspace which left her with plenty of time to distract herself with prodding him mentally with mild flirtation and banter, as well as occasionally literally poking at him for her own amusement, but was otherwise nothing important. So long as she could grab the controls at a moment's notice they had little to worry about during the trip.

The playful redhead was more than content to do nothing but sit around and let him do all the work while she messed with things for the entire trip, more or less just reading an H-Book about a young boy trapped in a frigid mountain range alone with nothing but an axe. After about an hour she began feeling a pressure in the back of her skull, an annoying headache developing from reading so she swapped to flirtaciously bugging Cato by kicking her leg up into his lap. "Do you like these boots? I've had them for a while, never gotten any comments about them. Are they too-" The pressure continued to build into that familiar sense of danger she had developed over her life, causing her to immediately shove the controls in front of her to push the vessel out of Hyperspace.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

The Solid Shadow physically lurched and them with it. Crash-webbing caught them back into their seating as sudden deceleration jostled them against their buckles and the near steerage consoles. Cato fought to keep his hands on the yoke, starlight reverting into void through the viewscreens, the XG-1 making translation back into realspace. He threw impulse power into full reversal and tried finessing them to a still. The shuttle briefly fought him; stars rotated roundabout through the screen before he finally ground the shuttle to a relative halt. A duraluminium cup scudded and bounced off the back of Cato’s helm.

Throughout the ordeal, the Mando had been wordless. Silence and an implacable stare fell on Laira as his visor turned to her. He waited for the explanation; afterward, he’d decide if he would be angered or not. Shadow fell across her face. Then passed with a blink. Cato started; the play of light and dark hadn’t been metaphorical.

Looking out beyond the XG-1’s bent prow, slabs of fire-warped hulling drifted through the Shadow’s course. Severed vessel sectioning, still wreathed in fire, slag, and cooling smoke and steam, hurtled by. Corpses ejected in its wake, cracked helmets with eye-pieces blown out with rapid depressurization, still flailing men in grey imperial officer uniform choking and bursting, unwisely holding their breath, vessel detritus tumbling free. A spray of iced plumbing and anti-freeze shattered into mist across a starboard porthole.

They’d reverted before a debris field. The hulk of a savaged Star Destroyer twisted on its axis, partially severed at mid-keel, the command forecastle jawed and ripped. Cato counted other vessel profiles crawling through open vacuum. A second destroyer, a lesser frigate, other smaller escort line-ships that were just recognizable. A TIE cockpit ball spun past, craning off a sheet of dislodged armour plating. Moment later, its pilot followed, colliding brokenly with jetsam and supply trash.

“…No.” Cato pointed at something hazed by the debris. A handful of vessel outlines darkened by solar contrast. They idled at anchor, just beyond the rubble cloud. Running lights blinked across their wale-lines. One was already mid-turn to starboard and caught a shaft of light over its armoured plating. The Death Watch’s ragged badge glowed bloody. A Mandalorian raiding flotilla, hunting in Imperial space. Cato counted a pair of curtailing dreadnoughts surrounding a heavy carrier, swarmed by interceptor flights running picket orbitals about the fleet.

A squadron broke from formation, braving the wreckage. On a course arcing towards their translation point. Behind, one of the dreadnoughts woke and rumbled. Cato throttled power to the engines and angled them low and hard to starboard, driving them down through strata’s of drifting Imperial wreckage.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The swift reversion told her everything she needed to know. "Feth." A raiding party, rugged Mandalorian hulls sat in the void beyond wreckage of an Imperial Patrol group. The dim glow of flames dissipating into space from within the wreckage told the tale of Mandalorian mass driven explosive rounds, a favorite of the Mid Rim's raiders. Twisted metal, burning debris, and ruined hulls drifted along their path. On the other side of the Mandalorian Dreadnought sensors could detect pulse-mass signatures, likely mines placed to prevent the Imperials from escaping.

Empion Mines. Those would have rendered the little Xg-1 a drift and defenseless, the two crew primed to be taken as captives. "Cato, don't do anything." Her hands pushed the gunboat to move downwards, flicking off life support recycling and interior lights. Dim red emergency lit the inside of the cockpit as the lights died, and the subtle sound of the engines died as they were placed on idle mode, setting the vessel adrift on inertia and maneuvering jets alone. The gunboat had been retooled as a stealth ship, but sudden reversion had alerted the Mandalorians to the presence of another vessel. There was no getting out of it, they were going to know there was another ship in system and they were going to look for it until they detected a jump to hyperspace or got bored.

The approaching squadron pulled through the debris field, glow lamps flipping on as their sensors didn't pick up the supposed reverted craft. Laira breathed in deeply, focusing herself to handle maneuvering through the squadron and the debris field without engines. Even stealthed, at this range and with this level of scruntity, they would never miss drive emissions. "I got this Cato. I can do this." In her head she was hyping on her own reputation as limited as it was, telling herself over and over, 'I can fly anything with wings'.

The craft slipped between two of the Mandalorian Fang Fighters at close proximity, passing with only meters of clearance when Laira twisted the gunboat to fit between them. For her the world was moving very slowly, little particles hung in the still air and her heart beat only every once in a while. Quiet and slow.

[member="Cato Fett"]

 

[Cato Fett]

Time quelled down and with it, Cato saw, young Laira. He felt hairs stand up along the ridge of his spine, crackling in time to hoarfrost slowly accreting where the viewscreen met and slotted into the hulling. Life-support was marginal; cold ached up through the decking, flashed their breath white, crawling frost over instrumentation panelling. The Solid Shadow roved with a canted list, haphazardly correcting course through sauntering rubble clouds. The Fang interceptors wandered by on their ever-broadening patrol circuit; time paused entirely whenever their inspection lamps passed across the bow.

Their probes kept lingering. Something had fallen out of hyperspace, into their killing field, and they desired to know if it was one more Imperial transport worth gutting. The XG-1 felt perfectly camouflaged; small, age-worn, bearing familiar design aesthetics, that it might’ve been a spare gunboat that’d slid free from its moorings during the initial firefight. Maneuvering impulse-jets burned just slightly, flaring at Laira’s direction, drifting them into thickening debris shoals. They were piloting solely through visuals. Scopes were depowered and blank. Cato thought he could ken Laira’s goal: guide them into the frame of some large ship sectioning and park their shuttle in place until the Watch had dredged out their take from the ship-slaughter and left.

A metal-on-metal impact groaned down through the Shadow’s dorsal wing. They’d clipped something. A heavier, knurled blot of dislodged ventral plating, or a piece out of the SD’s engineering section. They had to correct hard, burning maneuvering-jets bright to right their course and level. Bright search lamps lanced around, converging on their aft-end. A beat, before trace fire sliced past their port wing to warn and intimidate. Cato swore slightly behind his teeth and reached to re-power the shuttle.

[member="Laira Darkhold"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Dim light and cold crept into the cabin with the life support having been reduced to the bare minimum they required, a slight shiver working its way up the princess's spine. She held herself steady as they drifted at absolute quiet into the debris field, passing the first pieces of scrap and evading some of the smaller bits of wreckage. Laira was actually getting quite proud of herself for doing so well under pressure even though she had never been in this type of situation before. She saw a hangar of the Star Destroyer, intent on setting the gunboat down there in cloak until the Mandalorians lost interest. Perhaps she would even be able to convince Cato to go looking for the Destroyer's black box.

Scrreeeeeeee.

"Feth." It was all Laira had time to say as metal screeched against metal. Passive sensors pinged as the area they were in almost instantly became the subject to active sensor beams from the dreadnought. They might not detect the ship exactly, but if they were good they'd know the gunboat was there just by analyzing the debris field. The Mandalorians were already on high alert from the sudden reversion detection and not being able to find a ship. Their captain certainly knew he was dealing with a stealth ship. The lights from the Fang Fighters began blinking through wreckage to the ship's rear as they peered through the wreckage.

She prayed for a moment they wouldn't notice anything, the ship would ping the area and then move on after not seeing anything. Her danger sense flared, Cato was reaching to snap back on the power to the vessel. She was grateful he had such fast reflexes since it saved them some time, but in the back of her mind she didn't like the idea of her fate being reliant on his ability to fly. She wanted her survival to be in her own hands. She knew deep in her soul that she had to take over.

The redhead was already up and out of her seat in a flash, her manicured hands pushing Cato back in his chair, taking a seat in his lap. Cold metal from his armor touched the small of her back and the backs of her thighs, the coolness sinking through the fabric of her black trousers. "Hold me." she ordered, biting her lip as the systems powered back on the dash in front of her.

The redhead snapped the ship in a tight upward twist, bringing the vessel up and around the ventral plate, putting it between her and the dreadnought. Good she had as well, the seconds after they pulled away bursts of explosive flak shells detonated in the area they had been drifting, fired from the Mandalorian ship. Her feet slammed on the floor pedals, yawing the vessel over itself. Given all her foot movements she wasn't being exactly still in Cato's lap, shifting her weight around while she jerked the controls hard. The first pursuing Fang fighter flashed by their ventral section as it overshot the larger shuttle, not expecting it to be pulling tight maneuvers. Her hands squeezed the trigger as the second fighter tried to correct itself and loop around them, spitting red energy blasts at it as they began accelerating through the squadron in a series of reckless head to head matches.

[member="Cato Fett"]